


Ascent and Intent

by leporidae



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: A quiet moment during Kite's training, in which he struggles to understand his mentor (but that's nothing new).





	Ascent and Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say here, just playing around with characterization. I had no idea where I was going with this when I started it, and it shows.

It’s hot — that sticky, cloying,  _ suffocating _ sort of heat, the heat in which the last thing anyone would want to do is sprint up a mountain in the middle of the afternoon. Alas, Ging Freecss isn’t the type of person to care about what anyone else wants, a reality with which Kite has become begrudgingly acquainted. Ging does what  _ Ging  _ wants, whether with a purpose or on a whim, and today it seems to be the latter.

Even now that they’ve taken a break (after several hours of sprinting up a cliffside practically perpendicular to the ground), the heat is still seeping in, and Kite is weary not just physically but mentally as well. The physical weariness is fine, it’s to be expected. But the mental weariness is something he can never expose to Ging, or his mentor will vanish in an instant, deeming him unworthy of his time and energy. Ging is always looking for new challenges, and his game right now is testing how far he can stretch Kite’s patience.

(It has proven to be  _ very _ far.)

Kite fans himself with his hat, desperately regulating his breathing to avoid gasping like a floundering fish, and a peculiar, almost condescending grin curls Ging’s lips. 

“Do you have a water gun in there?” Ging gestures vaguely at the surrounding air, and Kite blinks, fatigued mind not processing the query. “You know, in your set of Nen weapons. Crazy Slots. Maybe you could cool yourself off with that.”

Kite scowls, which of course further delights Ging. Not only does he refuse to use his Nen unless he’s in legitimate danger, but he would never think up a useless weapon like that, even as part of a roulette of random chance. Having at least  _ some _ use in a fight is a prerequisite, and unless his enemy is made of tissue paper, a water gun is hardly going to deal damage. (On top of that, Ging already knows exactly which weapons he can conjure, since he himself helped Kite develop the technique.) “I’m fine,” he says curtly, pressing his lips together. 

“Oh, good,” Ging says cheerfully. “Then we can keep going, yeah?”

Kite realizes his mistake but manages to keep any indication of dread off his face, pulling his hat back low over his brow to mask what he hopes isn’t a visibly harrowed expression. “Of course.” Even if he hadn’t agreed, Ging would have left without waiting for him. And if Kite doesn’t force himself to follow his mentor’s pace, there’s a very high probability he’ll never see the man again. Ging is like a cloud of smoke, irritating when he’s present but prone to disappearing on a current of wind.

Again they continue their ascent, Ging keeping an absurdly brisk pace and Kite managing to trail close behind despite the blanket of heat threatening to smother him. The foliage grows denser with each step, and Kite can’t repress a tiny inhalation of pain as a stray branch snags a lock of his hair. At the speed he’s following Ging, he can feel every strand ripping out as he pulls himself free, and he winces.

“I’ve never understood why you don’t cut that hair of yours,” Ging remarks without so much as a glance behind him. “It seems like a hassle.” It’s a typical sentiment of Ging Freecss to wish to cut out that which he deems unnecessary without a second thought, whether it’s something as inconsequential as hair or as significant as his own son. For Ging, there’s no distinction; if it’s superfluous or a burden in any way, it has no place within the entertaining life he’s built for himself.

Even now Kite finds himself mystified that he is still permitted to remain the other man’s companion — though he’d be lying if he said he couldn’t sense Ging’s irritation at his presence from time to time. Still, his persistence has paid off up until this point, so who’s to say Ging wouldn’t continue to accept his company going forward?

That's wishful thinking, most likely.

“It’s my hair,” Kite says by way of explanation, which isn’t much of one at all.

“What if it strangles you in your sleep?” Ging says, and Kite finds himself privy to one of Ging’s grim and awkward attempts at humor. “Though if that happens, I’ll have some peace and quiet again. In that case, I take back what I said — you may as well keep your hair.”

How is he even supposed to respond to such a remark? “That won’t happen,” Kite says wearily. "It's out of the way when I sleep."

“Too bad. If your life was in mortal danger, I’d get to talk to Crazy Slots when he manifested. He’s much more entertaining than you are.”

_ He’s testing my patience.  _ Kite knows this, and yet his fists still clench as he walks. But he says nothing, and Ging doesn’t offer another word until they reach the open expanse of the summit, most likely already bored with entertaining the hypothetical.

The first sounds Kite notices upon stepping into the clearing are birds chirping, then running water. Even just thinking about the cold liquid washing over him is making his sweaty skin itch, and he grimaces. There’s a dilapidated cabin a few meters away, and Kite wonders if there’s anything of historic value within it that Ging wishes to preserve. But his eyes keep darting back to the tiny waterfall feeding off into the stream, and he wishes more than anything to step under the cool water. Still, he keeps quiet, not wishing his mentor to learn of his shamefully childish impulse.

“Kite.”

The voice snaps him out of his own mind. “Yes?”

Ging pushes him.

He doesn’t use aura, nor does Kite use aura to protect himself. The shove is gentle, like a child teasing his friend, but it still sends Kite stumbling back, caught off guard at the gesture. One foot splashes in without grace, then the other follows as he backs up, and with the startled momentum Kite tumbles into the water. In a vain attempt to regain his composure and dignity, he sits up cross-legged in the shallow water, silvery hair swirling around him, teased by the current.

Ging is smirking down at him. “Bad reflexes. What if I had actually been trying to kill you?”

“Then I’d be dead,” Kite admits, but it’s hard to act disgruntled when the water flowing around his body is so refreshing. Closing his eyes, he leans back until all but his head is submerged in the river, letting out a contented sigh —

— and then, water splashes on his face.

Coughing, Kite sits up abruptly, eyes snapping open to see Ging leaning over with one hand cupped in the water. “You’re wasting my time. Get up,” he says almost sulkily, despite having shoved Kite in the water in the first place.

Kite’s body moves before he thinks, and suddenly he’s gripping the front of Ging’s tattered shirt in his fingers, yanking his mentor forward. He expects Ging to jerk backwards, but apparently he is as equally surprised as Kite had been moments before, and GIng splashes into the water beside him, spluttering indignantly. A ghost of a smile twitches across Kite’s lips. It’s not often he can catch Ging off guard — usually it’s the other way around.

Ging scoots back to position himself under the waterfall, whisking his hat off his head and tossing it onto the grass to let the water flatten his spiky hair. “This feels great,” he says as his eyes flutter shut, as though relaxing in the river had always been his plan to begin with.

“Right...” With a soft sigh, Kite removes his own hat and shifts to sit next to his mentor under the water. As usual he has no idea what to say to Ging, but at least this time he’s being given moment to unwind.

Of course, it doesn’t last long. Sitting in silence is preferable for Kite, but Ging always seems to act opposite Kite’s preferences at any given moment. “I’ve never been one for meditating. I find it boring. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” Kite admits. “I like peace and quiet.”

It’s a barely-masked plea to preserve the silence, which Ging of course ignores. “In that case, why not just die?”

The question is phrased so harshly that even Kite, used to his master’s quirks, is taken aback. “...Sorry?” he manages after a lull.

“Ah, well, I wasn’t implying you should  _ actually  _ go die or anything,” Ging replies with characteristic lack of grace. “I just don’t know how you stand it, all that  _ peace and quiet _ . How’d I manage to pick up a student who’s so averse to excitement? If you don’t take risks, you may as well not be alive.”

Kite looks away, unsure how to answer. After a childhood filled with what could be called  _ excitement —  _ constantly on the run and stealing to get by —is it so wrong to desire a reprieve now and again? “Asking you to mentor me was a risk,” he says finally, raising an eyebrow. “And it’s still a risk. So I take offense at that.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Well —“ Ging stands suddenly, sending gentle ripples through the water that lap up against Kite’s side. “Yeah, sure.”

As wickedly brilliant as Ging can be, sometimes the man stammers like a damn fool when he’s reached a social impasse, and Kite can’t help but smile slightly. “I forgive you, Ging-san.”

Ging scowls. “I never apologized.” (Of course he didn’t, and he never would. Sometimes Kite thinks the man is incapable of regret.) “Get up, you’ll catch a cold. I don’t want you getting me sick. it’d be irritating.”

Kite has spent enough time outdoors to know a quick dip in a river isn’t enough to make him fall ill, and he knows Ging is aware of that, too. But he can also tell Ging simply scolding him to fill the silence, and so he complies with a shrug, stepping out of the water and wringing out his hair over the grass. Their fleeting moment of playfulness, if it can even be called that, has passed.

Ging stares at the horizon, eyes darkening almost imperceptibly, and Kite waits patiently for him to speak again.

“Forget what I said before — don’t die. It would be a waste.”

“Sorry?” Kite blinks.

Ging turns to him with an unreadable expression, something very...  _ Freecss _ . All Kite knows for certain is that whatever Ging’s current line of thought may be, he’d never think it himself. “What will you do when your situation changes, when I'm not there, and things aren’t safe?”

“...Get to safety?”

Ging flicks him on the side of the head, gently. “You’re a Beast Hunter,” he says, as usual failing to bother transitioning his thoughts so the rest of the world can keep up.

“And?”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Isn’t being any kind of Hunter dangerous by nature?”

Ging glares at him as though annoyed Kite isn’t privy to the secret machinations of his thoughts. “Would you resent me?”

It’s conversations like this one that make Kite question why he’d agreed to be mentored by Ging in the first place. He’s an amazing teacher, but a lot less amazing as a companion. No matter how disjointed his remarks, he always expects Kite to just  _ know.  _ And when he doesn’t, Ging loses patience, often simply changing the subject when Kite doesn’t catch up fast enough.

This time, though, when Ging catches on to Kite’s confusion, he chooses to explain himself. “If you found yourself in a situation where you couldn’t get to safety, I mean. Would you resent me, for not having prepared you enough?”

For as independent as he is, Ging Freecss takes pride in his endeavors, and Kite is simply another one of his projects. On some level, Kite wonders if Ging is actually self-conscious about having a student, having to mentor and take responsibility for another human being — especially since he’d spent the rest of his life avoiding such duties. Perhaps Ging had abandoned his son because he had been an uncertainty; without his father in his life, Gon Freecss’s fate is his own destiny, not a product of Ging’s missteps. 

Despite this, Ging had nevertheless wound up with a student, one who had somehow managed to break Ging’s unbreakable will with his persistence. Now whatever happens to Kite is a reflection of Ging’s skill and competence, not quite a _burden_ but something that comes close.

Kite can’t imagine any other reason his mentor would worry about him.

“If you’re concerned, then better prepare me,” Kite says flatly, bending down to pick up his hat and place it atop his head. When he glances over, that unreadable Freecss expression has appeared again. Is Ging testing him? Should he let the matter drop, or say something else? Ultimately, he chooses the latter. “I can’t imagine resenting you,” Kite says honestly. There’s probably even more he should say, but there’s no point. It would fall flat on Ging’s ears anyway.

Ging stares at him for a moment longer, and Kite shifts uncomfortably. Rarely does Ging focus on him for an extended period like this, too caught up in his own world to spare his student a lasting glance. “Better prepare you, huh?” A devious grin arises on his lips once again, and Kite knows the moment of unspoken anxiety between them has dissipated — or perhaps simply shelved. “Then — how’s this for a challenge? Let’s see if you can keep up with me.” Before Kite registers the words or the change of tone, Ging has already taken off in a sprint, disappearing down the other side of the mountain.

“Ging-san — !”

_ Wait, _ he almost shouts, but Ging never waits.

By the time Kite starts running, he has already lost.


End file.
